I ain’t no quitter, but…

I did something drastic this week – I quit volleyball. This wasn’t a rash decision mind, it took a lot of thinking and pondering to make my mind up but as soon as I said it outloud to a friend of mine, I knew it was the right thing to do.

I’ve been playing National League volleyball for a fair while now, and for the last four or five seasons for Leicester – a team of top girls with a good dollop of sporting talent and tactics between them. But I live in Milton Keynes so this means a good two-and-a-half hours in the car for every training session, one per week, plus jaunts to Leeds, Cardiff and Norwich etc for matches. I honestly spend more time in the car than I do on court and during the tail end of last season it was starting to take its toll.

I thought I’d be all refreshed after the summer break and raring to go again. But no. Plus when I got pulled over by a police car with flashing lights on the M1 a few weeks ago for speeding – I was doing 94mph apparently and had no idea they were chasing my ass – it was the last straw. I’m so keen to get home after Wednesday night training and rest my weary head that I break the law to get there and end up sitting in the back of a cop car in my shorts and volleyball hoodie, getting a lecture from the transport police, three points and a £60 fine. Far from ideal, I’d say.

Officer: “Do you have your driving licence or any identification on you madam?”

Me: “Er, no, sorry. I’ve just come from volleyball training so all I have on my is a pair of sweaty knee pads.”

Officer: “Hmm, knee pads eh. Well… I suppose we could identify you by your DNA.”

So, I played my last games on Sunday, at the home venue in Leicester. My team mates, unaware that I was on the brink of quitting, served up a storm on the court and we beat Sheffield 3-1 and Birmingham University in a very close five setter 3-2. What a way to leave the sport! With a double! I can’t ask much more than that although two days later and my muscles won’t let me forget what I put them through.

I also play netball on Monday and Tuesday nights – but locally thankfully, not 50 miles up the motorway – so now I can concentrate on just the one sport. Three nights of prancing around in shorts and trainers is too much, two is bearable, and I have a gym membership that needs using too. Very unlikely that after three nights on the trot I’m going to spend my free Thursdays pounding the cross trainer! Uh uh.

I’ve broken the news to my team mates now and feel terrible for abandoning them and giving them one less person to take the piss out of. I never thought quitting a sport I have been so committed to over the years would ever be an option for me, but I feel great relief at inheriting an extra night in the week and a helluva lot of Sundays.

This spare time will be used wisely, mind. I have a neglected novel that needs editing until it’s fit for an agent’s eyes; a group of fellow writers I need to brainstorm with; books piling up on my bedside table that need reading; friends to catch up with on the blower and a man who likes to spend time with me when I’m not tired and grumpy. I have a bike that’s covered in cobwebs and in desperate need of riding; a catalogue of restaurants I want to eat in; and movies I want to watch and sometimes…well, sometimes I want to do nothing.

Who knows, maybe I’ll be back at the net next season but for now, I’m looking forward to the break.

Catching up with myself

I can’t believe it’s been a  couple of weeks since I last blogged. I vowed to keep this blog up to date but lately my writing mojo has had peaks and troughs and more recently I’ve been troughing. Soz folks.

So, to get back into the swing of things here’s a round up of what I’ve been up to…

Ego hell

During my long weekend in Spain I had the misfortune of visiting Nikki Beach. I’ve been a few times before and this visit reminded me why I’ve avoided it for the last couple of years. I like the concept – restaurant off the beach with bar, cool music, dancing and people enjoying themselves all day long. Nothing wrong with that. But it’s incredibly over priced – £20 for a small jug of orange juice – and seems to attract the sort ouf people who need to book two tables, one for their party of guests, the other for their egos. Seriously, who wears strappy stiletto heels and false eyelashes with a bikini? What’s wrong with good old fashioned flip flops and a flick of mascara? The place is full of women who queue for the toilet just to rearrange their breast implants, reapply make-up to their tightened eyes and cheekbones with a trowel and pat down whatever scrap of fabric they’re wearing to barely cover their modesty. The men are muscle bound idiots flashing the cash and spraying bottles of champagne on people who have so few brain cells they think wasting such an expensive tipple is cool. The smaller the guy’s trunks, the bigger his ego; that’s the rule at Nikki Beach. I loathed every minute of it and queuing for the toilet increased my anger – unlike the beauty queen wannabes around me, I didn’t want to powder my nose, I just wanted to pee.

Family arguments

Every time I spend a decent amount of time with the family, an argument ensues. In fact, me and my two bros and one sis actually take bets on who will be next to start one. It usually involves my dad and one of us siblings. This time, during the same long weekend in Spain mentioned above, it was my oldest bro who ticked Papa Slingsby off by getting so drunk he could barely speak. No rules against consuming alcohol when you’re on your hollibops. Not in my book anyway.

Norfolk news

After my jaunt to Spain I spent a couple of days with a good friend of mine who moved from the depths of Walsall to picturesque Norfolk a few years ago and is now three months pregnant after her second bout of IVF treatment. I’m very proud of her! Our friendship was forged as trainee journalists almost 12 years ago so it was good to catch up, stretch our legs in a pretty woodland and fuss her dog Holly who seems to have taken a liking to me and so wants to walk where I walk. Sadly for Holly, this means I often tread on her paws. Whoops!

The Apple Suite

The spare room got a bit of a transformation over the Bank Holiday and has gone from being a teeny weeny and overcrowded work space to a super cool and minimalistic office, showcasing Apple’s finest technology. I can see me getting a lot of work done in there, it inspires creativity and I’m looking forward to some quality time at the desk with a glass of vino in hand.

Commitment issues

The new volleyball season has started and already we’re struggling for players. Usually the start of the season is heralded with an influx of newbies but not so this year. Our first National League match of the season is in less than two weeks and already some players are prioritising elsewhere. Perhaps because I’m club chairman or perhaps because I travel from Milton Keynes to Leicester every week for training – and am hence committed – this annoys me. You’re either in or you’re out when it comes to team sport, it’s not fair to pick and choose what suits. Rant over. Actually, no, not rant over. It’ll no doubt be the same for the forthcoming netball season which starts next week. Struggling for players, poor turnout at training and so poor performance in matches. I’m hoping I’ll be wrong. Maybe I’m just narked because I promised I’d shave down my commitments this year to spend more time on my writing. So how have I found myself chairman of Leicester Volleyball Club and vice-captain of my netball team. Sucker!

Focus on fitness

Volleyball and netball season has drawn to a close and now my writing course has ended I find myself with a fair bit of time on my hands. With no more volleyball or netball training/matches until August (save for the summer netball tournament if it goes ahead) what on earth will I do with myself? Well, crack on with the next fitness campaign, of course..

My buddy reccommended a personal trainer to me and this little bundle of fitness – her name is Jade – has put together a six-week training plan tailored to my needs and aims.It rocks, in a “no pain, no gain” kind of way!

What do I want to achieve?

• To look like Kelly Brook in six weeks. Actually, just to look and feel fitter will be fine
• To notice a difference in my shape, noticeably the muffin top which volleyball and netball seem to neglect
• To give me a focus over the summer
• To maintain/increase fitness levels ahead of the new sports season
• To make sure I look hot on the beach in July

So, Jade has taken the above into account and meticulously put together a programme of activity, which includes five days of exercise per week, with two rest days. Activities include swimming, biking, running and a series of weights and evil lunge type exercises to boot. Jade talked me through the programme to make sure I was happy and inside I was chuckling to myself ‘cos she kept referring to me as an athlete. She knows all about my volleyballing and netballing activities and has therefore labelled me of athletic ability. I like it!

I started my programme today with a half hour sesh of weights and lunges, plus the plank and a bit of wobbling around on a fitness ball, followed by 50 minutes in the pool where I managed 88 lengths. I was knackered. I’m not used to weights and lunges and I felt a bit sick after doing some backward crunch things. And while 50 minutes in the pool did drag a bit – and I looked like a wrinkled prune when I got out – I felt bloody good, if a little tired, afterwards. That’s the feeling of achievement my friends!

Coupled with a decent diet and a whole load of discipline I’m hoping I stick to this programme and see the benefits come mid-June. Jade also said you need to eat every three hours or the body thinks it’s starving and I know this is something I can stick to. Sadly, you can’t snack on cakes and biccies, boo.

Tomorrow’s fitness agenda comprises a half hour run which will be a challenge – I’m a crap runner and usually give up after 10 minutes – so it will be interesting to see where I get the stamina from. Wish me luck!

Shoulders back!

I used to slouch as a kid and I seem to have taken this bad habit into adulthood with me. You see, I’m 5ft 9ins tall, which isn’t a giant by any means, although I have pretty much been this height since I was 12. And I didn’t want to stand out when I was 12, I wanted to blend in and not be head and shoulders above the rest. Literally. So I slouched.

The best thing about being tall at that age was that sport was a piece of piss. I was a bit of a netball star back in the day, but only because team mates had only to lob a high ball my way and any normal-sized opponent wouldn’t stand a chance. Sadly, in adult netball terms, I’m just not that tall and I find it’s me that’s trying to leap around like a salmon to retrieve the ball, not the opposition.

Anyhoo, having my mum poke me between the shoulder blades and yell “shoulders back!” for most of my teenage years, it clearly hasn’t worked. I slump at my desk, I slump in my car and only seem to hurl my shoulders back when casually strolling past some hot blokein an attempt to look taller and thinner. Not sure it even works.

However, I went to see Mr Physio last week and he said my rotator cuff impingement (dodgy, painful, weak shoulders basically) isn’t helped by my bad posture and it’s something I need to work on. Dodgy shoulders isn’t uncommon in volleyballers, far from it, but it will only get worse if I don’t push my shoulders back and do my theraband exercises twice a day.

But I’ve been rounding my shoulders for so long now that it actually feels uncomfortable to push them back, where they’re supposed to be. And I feel like a bit of a plum. I keep remembering to do it and hurling them backwards, which seems to push my chest out and my chin up for some reason. I probably look like a military officer about to give my soldiers what for.

So, I’m trying to stand tall and be proud of my height. But as I write this blog I’m in pain. My shoulder blades kill and the tension seems to seep up into my neck. No pain no gain? I hope so.

Touch rugby: my debut

Phew. I’ve been delaying it and delaying it (holiday, work, assignment to finish etc) but today I finally made my debut on the touch rugby field. Okay, so I only played one half – a grand total of eight minutes – but at least I know what’s what now and my fear of the unknown has gone.

I had a few concerns before stepping onto the field: making a dick of myself in front of lots of sweaty men in shorts by screaming when I caught the ball, or worse dropping the ball; letting the team down, and being responsible for the other team scoring a try or two.

The trouble with me is that I don’t like playing sport unless I’m half decent at it. I’m not half decent at touch rugby, far from it, but after a few incidents of treating the rugby ball like a hot potato and chucking it in any direction as soon as it entered my hands, I settled down a bit and started to understand the logic of the game.

I think it’ll take some getting used to – in netball you can’t run with the ball, so this game feels a bit unnatural, but I’m looking forward to the next match and hope to play a full 16 minutes. I particularly look forward to Guy’s wicked attempts at a try – and he would’ve made it too, if it wasn’t for his slippy trainers and spectacular nose-dive into the grass. Nice work!

Plus I want to score a try too, just so I know what it feels like. I’m a way off that but Captain Kath hands out jars of home-made chutters for the scorers. Good incentive!

In two minds…

I’m in two minds about a few things at the moment, which is probably the reason why my brain is fried.

• Netball. While I love playing and love playing in the Premier League, I hate playing GD when my talents lie in the GA position. I’m an attacker, not a defender and am struggling to get my head around that. Apparently I’m going a great job in defence but that doesn’t help much. And with the team captain and head of the netball club currently playing GA I don’t think I’m going to get a look-in. Bugger.
• My CIPR research project. On one hand I’m dreading it because it’s a piece of academic work and I am not in the slightest bit academic. And I have to do it in my spare time. What spare time? And on the other hand I actually find it quite interesting ‘cos it’s about the blogosphere, which is a passion of mine. Plenty of interesting books to read!
• My holiday. I’m off to Dubai in just over three weeks’ time and I can’t wait. Me, four girl mates, permanent sunshine and a whole new city to discover. But I’m also going to be leaving behind a ruck of work (projects that I’m actually excited about working on and want to be part of) and feeling very guilty because the time should be spent on my CIPR assignment. Eek. A glass of gin and cranberry (with lime, of course) should take my mind off it.
• Money. A big part of me thinks I should be saving my pennies, what with this credit crunch business, and being a bit more savvy with my money. But the new winter clothing line has hit the shops and temptation is everywhere. I can’t stop buying new stuff!
• My hair. I’m having it cut and coloured in a couple of weeks, two days before my mate’s wedding, for which I am a bridesmaid. Do I do something daring? Part of me loves having it longer, so I have the option of tying it back etc, but I’m tempted to have a lot chopped off so I look a bit more edgy. I’m defo gonna get rid of the blonde slices though and maybe plump for different shades of brown or even a dash of black. Decisions decisions.
• Physio. To go or not to go? Following my sprain, I’ve been umming and ahhring about whether to go back to see Mr Physio. My ankle’s not back to full strength still and I am way too scared to play netball or volleyball without an indutrial support on it. I tweaked it at netball last night, it was fat and puffy last night, which has served as a timely reminder that I need to get it sorted. I’m petrified of injury at the moment because it will bugger up my sporting routine. I’m working hard on fitness and that will all fly out the window if my ankle goes again. Yes, there’s a cost to see Mr Physio but I could get him to look at my shoulder too (it crunches every time I move it and is pretty painful; down to volleyball I think) and he is pretty easy on the eye. I’ll have to fish out appropriate underwear though.

Netball debut: oh balls

I’m making my debut on the netball court with a new team tonight and I’m a tad nervous, on several levels: I have never played for this team before. I am new to the club. Although I’ve been playing for years, I’ve not had netball training since college and this team is always talking tactics and in code. I will be playing out of position.

I was supposed to be playing for this netball club’s second team – they have four I think – but they moved me up to the top team after I apparently played well in another position at training. Now I’ve somehow become a versatility player for the top team without ever playing in my own position for the second team, and it’s somewhat out of my comfort zone. I know my position – GA (goal attack) backwards but tonight I’m playing the complete opposite – GD (goal defence). I’m used to running away from players, not after them, and it’s all a bit confusing.

I want to play well as I’ve feel I need to stamp my mark on this team and make a good impression as a new player. Ah, the pressure. I was also training with two teams over the summer while I decided to which I liked best (and I failed to tell the other team I was moonlighting) so I’ll probably be getting evils from them. Soooo nervous!

Oh well, fingers crossed it goes well, although there is so much to remember. I need to get used to phrases like “angles”, “driving out”, “goalside” and “DADA or defence, attack, defence, attack”. Last night at training, when one of the players shouted “switch” at me (indicating we needed to mark each other’s opponents momentarily) I semi-froze as my brain registered the information and then just galloped around on the spot. By the time I’d realised what I was supposed to do, the goal was in the net. Ooohps!

Another problem is that the game isn’t until 9pm – serious lateness – so I have hours to work myself up over it. Gasp! And I’m tired too. Our team is called Trojans but the way I feel today I should be playing for the Sloths. Wish me luck.

Sporting overdose?

Hmmm. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s such a thing as too much sport and exercise? I’ve had a sport-themed week this week and I have to say, I’m struggling to keep my little eyes open as I write. And it’s only 3.30pm!

Monday was an hour an a half of netball training during which the coach warned us that the intensity would only increase from here on in. I practically slipped off the car seat on the way home, I was so sweaty; probably because I paired up with a 14-year-old whipper snapper for one of the drills and she ran rings around me. I hate the youth!

On Tuesday I biked to and from a bellydancing class (yes, that’s right folks, I said bellydancing) which my work buddy roped me into. It’s actually good fun, although incredibly embarrassing and certainly not for the self conscious, and although not a cardio workout it does wonders for your core stability. Am starting to wonder if my core is a bit rotten!

Wednesday was two hours of volleyball training. For some reason training was rammed with newcomers this week and all those hot bodies in one room did warm the air a little. It was a physical session but my coaches noted my “improved fitness”. What they didn’t note is that I struggled to get out of bed the following day.

Yesterday I biked into work and then joined some work buddies at a Body Blast class. While it sounds painful, it wasn’t as hard as we were expecting and I was a tad disappointed. We did lots of lunges, crunches and core strengthening exercises and lots of weights too, but the instructor needed to push us harder. We wanted to feel the burn! Great 90s dance tunes to workout too though; I was half tempted to boogie my way through the class.

And today, Friday. I biked into work today but that’ll be it as far as exercise goes. All this exercise is making me feel great – I’ve been super productive and wide awake, although this is a problem when it comes to bedtime. I’m always in bed by midnight at the very latest usually but this week I haven’t jumped into bed until as late as 1am ‘cos I’m so pumped. I’m hoping this is just a temporary side effect ‘cos I’m truly knackered today and a little bit achy.

Oh well, I’m sure my good work will be undone this Bank Holiday weekend as I attend my mate’s hen weekend. I was charged with food shopping for the 10 of us and there’s a lot of cake, crisps and wine sat in the boot of my car, waiting to make the journey to Nottingham with me this evening. Oh well.

My day with Documentally

What a strange day it’s been. I’ve not blogged for a couple of days ‘cos I’ve been too weak to lift my fingers and type. In complete contradiction to this blog post, I have delved into the miserable world of diets and had a second bash at the lemon detox diet, thus resulting in headaches and severe lack of energy.

This involves five days of drinking nothing but brown gunk and eating….er…actually, there’s no eating involved. Yes, that’s right folks, nothing, nada, nowt. I’m on day three now and I’ve just caved in and eaten an apple. I’m playing netball tonight and a tad concerned I might faint on court and collapse in a heap with my netball skirt around my ears. Could be embarrassing!

Anyway, enough of this detox talk; there’s been another drain on my energy source today and his name is Christian. This cheeky chappy, a social media generalist, blogger and video boffin, came into work to carry out some quirky video interviews with some of our academics and it was my job to babysit him.

And oh what fun we had. Now, I defo have a face for radio (see this blog post) but time spent with Christian, aka Documentally, invariably means being recorded and with little notice. No time to apply more make up but just enough time to develop a stutter.

Anyways, I told Documentally guy about my detox and he crept up on me, video-recording mobile phone in hand (the Nokia N95, I must get one) while I was innocently working at my desk. Well, I need say no more but you can watch frivolity here.

Needless to say, I am pooped after a hard day in (and out) of the office and will have to go home and battle with willpower. To eat or not to eat? One thing’s certain, I can cross off a career in broadcast journalism or modelling. Talking bullshit? Yeah I could make a career out of that!

PS Documentally suggested using the word “gag” in a blog post to see if it generates hits. So here it is again: gag. Will keep you posted.

Tired eyes and aching bones

My eyes are so tired and dry and I’m blinking so much that people probably think I’ve got some kind of nervous twitch. I haven’t, I’m just fookin’ knackered.

The reason for my sore peepers? Dehydration’s probably got something to do with it – I don’t drink enough water – but I’ve been overdoing it on the sport front lately and it’s taking it’s toll.

They say exercise is good for you, and I’d be the first to endorse that fact usually, but today I think I need a bit of a rest. Last week I spent five out of seven nights playing sport – korfball, netball and volleyball – and last night I had korfball training and netball training back to back. I resembled somthing along the lines of a beetroot with a sweat problem when I got home!

So, not only have I got tired eyes, but my bones are aching too, particularly my shoulders, and my calves are twinging at regular intervals - probably not a good idea to be wearing killer heels to work then, eh?

Despite the utter relief that I’m not playing in tonight’s netball match (‘cos I’m not insured/affiliated to the league yet) and my desperate need for a night in front of the box, I do think sport is a truly great thing.

Not only does it allow me to eat pretty much what ever I want (diets don’t work for me, and I can easily polish off a tub of ice cream in one sitting), it keeps me fit and gives me a great social life. My sporting chums are much-os fun-os.

I’ve never been a fan of the gym, I haven’t got the motivation to attend, although I have on a couple of occasions invested in an annual membership only to give up after a couple of inspired months. Lessons learned there.

Sport, on the other hand, gets me motivated from the off. I play because a) it’s a chance to catch up with mates and get the latest gossip, b) it’s a fun way of keeping fit, c) if I don’t keep playing/training I might get a bit rusty, which leads to d) if i play/train crap then I may lose my place on the team or sacrifice some of my court time to better players. I’m hoping at some point there’ll be an e) – fit male players to dribble over - but at the moment this is not the case.

So, tonight’s sporting activity will include changing channels on the TV and trying out new seating positions on the sofa. And if I’m feeling really energetic, I might run a bath.